


Intercepted Light

by voleuse



Category: Battlestar Galactica
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-26
Updated: 2006-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-04 06:24:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Trust everyone a little, no one much.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Intercepted Light

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series. Title, summary, and headings adapted from Ann Darr's _Advice I Wish Someone Had Given Me_.

_i. without feeling the heel marks on your head_

Laura knows she's losing the battle when the fourth reporter asks her the same question after she tries to steer them toward the _improvements_ in the teacher screening procedures. Rather than focusing on the now, however, the mob keeps harping on the anniversary of a decade-old scandal.

Finally, she advises them to review their own archives, and then walks away from the podium with a smile. As soon as she walks out the door, her latest assistant throws her hands up. Laura shrugs and tells her to take the evening off.

Once she's stepped free of the crowd, Laura turns a corner and leans against the drinking fountain. She presses the lever to set the water in motion, and lets out a breath beneath the trinkle of water striking metal.

"They're out for blood today," a voice remarks, just behind Laura's shoulder.

She releases the lever, and the water gurgles before disappearing. "They're out for an easy headline," she replies.

The woman folds her arms. "Same thing, in this business." She smiles, an insinuating grin Laura wishes she could use in public herself.

"Ms Biers, isn't it?" Laura takes a careful step backward. "My assistant sets up all my personal interviews."

"No camera, no interview." Biers holds her hands up, gestures surrender. "I thought I could buy you a drink."

"A drink." Laura raises her eyebrows. "A friendly one?"

D'Anna shifts forward, half a step. "Maybe more than friendly," she murmurs, and her gaze grazes Laura's lips, her neck.

"I'm still on the clock," Laura ripostes. "But you could walk me to the next press conference."

"One of yours?" Biers asks.

Laura shakes her head. "Secretary of Transportation."

"Of course." Biers laughs. "That'd cheer anybody up."

_ii. story-telling, baking, bed_

Three days later, Biers shows up at Laura's apartment with a bottle of wine.

"Ms Biers." Laura finishes wiping her hands on her dishrag and resists the urge to brush her hair out of her eyes. "As I mentioned before, no personal interviews without an appointment."

"Do you see my cameraman?" she refutes. "And you're off the clock now. You've got to be." She holds up her wine and waggles it, displaying the vintage.

Laura bites her lip. "It's all off the record?" she asks. The wine's fine enough that she doesn't care, not very much.

"I promise." Biers thrusts the bottle into Laura's hands, uses the gesture to close the distance between them. "I have no recording devices whatsoever."

Laura twists the bottle in her hands, then smiles. "There's only one way I can know that for certain," she teases.

"Not until after the first glass," Biers replies. "And please, call me D'Anna."

_iii. put truth and people in their right_

Laura's assistant resigns, the latest in a long line of resignations. She doesn't blame her, just types out a recommendation letter and signs it with a flourish.

Every day feels like Sisyphus, with no credit, no acknowledgement. Just a verbal pat on the head from Adar, once in a while, leading to other things.

Laura misses teaching, but she's glad of the work she does. A word here, a promise there, and the boulders grind uphill.

_iv. find the shadow, what it falls upon_

It is never scheduled, never constant. She might have seen D'Anna from across the plaza, or she might not have seen her for a week.

But once in a while, D'Anna shows up at her door with a bottle of wine and some divine dessert in a delicate box.

Laura puts away her book, or her files, or her phone. If she has a record playing, she leaves it on, then turns the lights down.

D'Anna pours two glasses of wine, liberates a fork from the rest of the cutlery. While Laura drinks, D'Anna prises a morsel of the confection onto the fork. Lets it waver in the air as the wine swirls against Laura's tongue.

Carefully, carefully, Laura draws her teeth over the fork, letting her eyelids fall shut as she tastes. She leans back in her chair, lets the sugar dissolve in her mouth. Cocoa, or raspberries, or vanilla, or rich cream.

She lets it melt, lets herself revel until the taste fades away. Then D'Anna gives her another morsel, then another.

They never finish the dessert until right before dawn, but the bottle of wine is empty long before then.

_v. care carefully_

One night, at two in the morning, she goes to D'Anna's apartment.

When D'Anna opens the door, she's wearing a tank top beneath her robe. Her hair is mussed, and she's surprised.

Laura steps around her, leans against the wall until D'Anna shuts the door.

"Long day?" D'Anna asks, and she's already sliding out of her robe.

Laura follows the fall of it, cotton catching against shoulders, elbows, hips. "I didn't feel like waiting for you," she confesses.

D'Anna smiles, and presses forward, presses her hips against Laura's firmly. She brackets Laura's shoulders with her arms, nudges her knee between Laura's thighs, urging the hem of her skirt up.

Laura slides her hands over D'Anna's cheeks. She skims over D'Anna's breasts, then hooks her fingers in the elastic of her briefs.

At D'Anna's grin, Laura slips one hand lower, to rough curls, warm, wet. D'Anna makes a noise, low in her throat, and her body jerks at Laura's touch.

The wall is roughly plastered, and cold even through Laura's jacket and blouse.

Even so, it's quite a while before she lets D'Anna stumble back.

_vi. thicken your skin to hints and hurts_

Laura doesn't second-guess herself, but even after the press conference, she stares at her charts and wishes she could cast the bones differently.

There isn't any way but to merge the two school districts, though, and she feels each dismissal, each angry letter, like a stone in her stomach. She keeps all the names in a hanging file, in the back of the bottom drawer.

Amidst the furor of the shift, she's managed to reallocate some of the budget. She's found funding for a new mathematics program, for an astrophysics seminar, for colonial history books written _after_ the Articles of Colonization were ratified. But nobody notices those parts; they just see the rosters of displaced children, the longer rides on public transportation, and the picket line of teachers who lost their classrooms when the buildings were demolished.

Laura presses her fingers against the bridge of her nose, and asks her new assistant to cancel her appointments.

Even the one she wanted to have.

_vii. be allergic to the soul scrapers_

That night, D'Anna begins a series of investigative reports on government corruption.

As Laura watches the screen, D'Anna looks directly into the camera and lowers her chin. _And, perhaps worst of all, we'll find out which officials gained their appointments through..._personal_ favors, and exactly how those favors were incurred in the first place._

There's a knock on the apartment door, and Laura shuts the program off. She's not surprised when D'Anna bulls her way in.

D'Anna looks at the blank screen, raises her eyebrow. "You watched it." She sounds it like a question, but there's no curiosity on her face.

"I did," Laura says, and her voice is colder than she means it to be. "I'll be sure to catch the next segment."

D'Anna reaches out, strokes a hand down Laura's arm. "Laura, it's nothing personal."

"I know." Laura steps away, not flinching, but controlled. "And D'Anna, neither is this."

She smiles, opens the front door wide, and waits for D'Anna to step outside.


End file.
